Girls, the Care and Maintenance Of.

Turdageddon

Lest you think all is sunshine and baby rainbows up in here, let me put your mind at ease. Let’s talk about a little event that recently happened in our house that I like to call “Turdageddon”. Well, I don’t really like to call it that; in fact, I didn’t really like any of it, but it happened, and it was bad enough to have a name like “Turdageddon”, because epically bad events need epic names.

It’s day two of my awesome baby morphing into needs-to-nurse-constantly-and-not-nap-more-than-twenty-minutes baby. Phaedra just finished throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her ride her bike (which she doesn’t ride for more than ten feet before losing interest, anyways) in the street outside our house like the neighbor girl can. She informed me she wasn’t going to speak to me ever again, and that she was going to her room and never coming down. I was left with Bella, who was naked because of our continuing tentative efforts at potty training, and Surrey, who was just getting ready to nod off (thank God). After being relatively sure that this nap was for reals, I took her upstairs and put her in her bed. Unfortunately, Phaedra has reinterpreted “angry exile in bedroom” to mean “impromptu late-night nap that will allow me to party until 2:00 a.m.” Oh well. Still, on the whole, looking good. Time to relax.

Not so. Twenty minutes later, Nighttime Bella Voice emerges. Nighttime Bella Voice is when Bella decides to randomly yell words or noises at the top of her goddamn voice in the evening. It’s only in the evening when this happens, which is super awesome. Usually, though, it’s not until later in the evening, like 10:00 p.m. or so. Not 8:20 p.m. when the baby is trying to sleep upstairs. After the third belting of “DINOSAUR TRAIN!”, Surrey is up and awake. Perhaps my stomping and loud complaining as I walked up the stairs also contributed to her more awake status, but who’s to say?

After intense negotiations, Surrey decides that she’ll go back to sleep, but only for now, and not for long. I accept her conditions, and start to go back downstairs. However, as I start my descent, the distinct smell of poop starts to hit me, and gets worse with every step. Not good.

I think, “OK, she definitely shit on the floor. Not the worst thing in the world, and definitely not the first time she’s done it. I need to locate the poop and get it off the floor ASAP, before she steps–“

Oh God. This is bad. So, SO bad.

She indeed shit on the floor. Well, rather, on the ONE area rug on the entire downstairs floor. And she not only stepped in it, ooooooh no, she one-upped me. She stepped in it, rubbed it on her body, and took a little Mystery Trip around the vicinity of the TV room and adjacent living room, leaving me to step in random poop landmines as I crossed the room to…

…do what? Pick her up? Hell no. Wipe her down? No way. We’re waaaaay beyond the realm of baby wipes at this point. Our only two choices are the hose (and, I’m not kidding at all, I’ve literally hosed this kid down before like an elephant at the zoo), and the bathtub. Since it’s nearly dark outside, and getting chilly, I opt for the humane choice and go for the bathtub. I gingerly walk her across the TV room and up the stairs, while I lecture her on why doo-doo goes in the potty, how it’s ucky, how she can’t ever, ever, EVER play with doo-doo, etc. etc. while she lectures me on DINOSAUR TRAIN! DINOSAUR TRAIN! GONNA RIIIIIIIIIDE, DINOSAUR TRAIN!

I successfully wrangle her up the stairs and into the bathtub. And OHMYGOD, she is absolutely COVERED in shit. It’s on her legs, her feet, her stomach, her arms, her arms, and, sweet Jesus help me, on her face. I do the one thing I guarantee no parent on Earth ever wants to contemplate doing: I smell her breath to check for poop. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure she didn’t eat any. She starts looking for bath toys, like this is some kind of impromptu early fun-time bath. She is severely dismayed to see me not put the plug in the tub and just start dumping water on her unceremoniously. After washing down her body, I hear the baby crying in full distress mode. At the exact same moment, I notice poop clinging to a strand of Bella’s hair. Well, in for a shitty penny, in for a pound of turds I guess. I decide poor Surrey will have to wait while I now shampoo Bella’s hair. No use in only half-cleaning up the mess that currently is my second child.

I finish cleaning up Bella, grab a bath towel, dry her off, and then realize that I have no place to take this kid. I have clothes upstairs, but no diapers for her. They’re all downstairs, where the poop mess is still on the floor. I have to figure out where to put this kid while I clean up the poop downstairs. So, I have a dripping wet toddler fresh out of the bath, a screaming baby in total meltdown mode, and a sleeping preschooler all upstairs, and a world of shit downstairs. I lock the baby’s room, leave the toddler standing dripping and puzzled in the upstairs hallway, and rush downstairs to try to quickly clean up the mess. Lucky for me, I left the baby monitor on, so I can hear my baby scream at me in stereo! I LOVE TECHNOLOGY!

I rush into the kitchen and grab the only two things I think might help me clean up this abomination: paper towels and a wet sponge. Who the fuck knows what I was planning to do with the sponge: possibly wipe down the carpet? We’ll never know, because as I round the corner to the TV room, I am confronted with simultaneously the best and worst thing ever:

nothing.

The poop is gone. Completely.

I don’t want to be gross (says the girl who has written an entire post about poop), but there was a decent amount of poop to be cleaned up. It didn’t all make it onto her body. A two-and-a-half year old girl basically takes dumps that aren’t that different from yours. And it’s fucking gone.

Now, I’m no super sleuth or anything, but it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to unravel this mystery:

Thank you, I think?

After simultaneously thanking and cursing my utterly disgusting little helper, I put back my cleaning supplies, get Bella diapered and dressed, and retrieve The Saddest Baby in the World, and turn on another episode of DINOSAUR TRAIN!

And to think, I’ve been worried all week about the pee smell hanging around my TV room.

Nicole: that’s incredibly gross, and a good anecdote to hang on to for a special occasion when they grow up, like, say, graduation, or a rehearsal dinner.

Stacy: if it wasn’t so disgusting, I’d almost say invest in a dog if only for this purpose, but since they usually end up pooping on the floor as much as a kid, it might not be worth it. Fun times indeed 🙂

This is a fantastic story which I might just bookmark in case the urge for #3 hits me again. Congrats on the new baby, and on clearly having the ability to manage it all. I am weak and lazy and just the thought of a crying newborn in stereo has me panicking a bit.

Also, I cannot believe I never clicked over to your blog before, motherhoodwtf! I’m definitely adding you to my “must-read” list of blogs. Also, I’m glad my poop debacle can be of service to someone else, although the fact that I let a two-year-old run around my house naked while caring for a newborn doesn’t necessarily showcase my good sense, in my opinion.